Cambodia: A lesson in being content
I went to southeast Asia recently, on vacation from my post as an English teacher in China, and my perception of the relationship between happiness and prosperity was completely upended.
As I have noted in the past, one of the most important lessons that I have learned so far during my Asia adventure is to expect the unexpected, or rather, to not expect anything at all. This is hard to do.
There is always an idea in one’s mind about what it is like in one place or another; what the people, the land, the culture and climate are like. This undoubtedly stems from what people have read or heard about the place, and even when someone studies the history, politics, or anthropology of a particular region, there is no substitute for actually seeing it. When people hear about stories of poverty or oppression, glory or conquest, the view is always shaped by the subjective reporting of the storyteller (no journalist is completely objective).
Even though I try to live with an open mind, I could not help but hold preconceived notions about one of the places I planned to visit: Cambodia. I read brief histories, news articles and travelogues about Cambodia, so inevitably my mind assembled a few ideas.
For many Americans, knowledge of southeast Asia comes from news reports and history lessons about the Vietnam War era. We remember Nixon sending troops up the Mekong River and bombers over Cambodian skies to “root out the reds.” Many people are familiar with the atrocities committed by the Khmer Rouge, a junta government — initially supported by the United States — that, according to the CIA, killed 1.5 million people, mostly innocent civilians.
All this pre-knowledge of a country I had never visited led me to believe the people who lived there would almost certainly be poor and unhappy. I had this grand confidence that, as an educated and compassionate Westerner, I had a lot to offer the people of Cambodia. After all, it was my country that helped lead this people into the abject despair and poverty in which I thought they all lived in, so therefore it was my obligation to help those who could not help themselves.
How arrogant I was.
My original intent was to go down there and get my hands dirty. Build some houses, remove some landmines, feed some children and make a difference. Finding these idealized volunteer opportunities proved to be impossible, and, in the end, I got sick and all I could do was spend tourist dollars and give change to those who asked for it.
A majority of what I saw was Western travelers gawking at the trash and dirt that covers the sides of the roads in cities like Siem Reap, Sihanoukville and Phnom Penh: "It’s so dirty. It’s so poor."
One place was especially depressing. It was on a main tourist road crowded by bars open to the street filled with local women and old white men from the United States, Europe and Australia. The men were not there to soak up the sun, but for entirely more despicable reasons involving the obviously underage girls that populate the bars along the strip. This left a deep impression in my mind.
Wherever there were tourists, there were touts, bleating the same salesman’s call, "Motobike, sir?" and whispering as I walked by, "You want lady? You want ganja?"
Whose fault is this, I thought. Was it like this before?
While I cannot come to a conclusive answer, I can say I saw the worst of what tourism has done to Cambodia.
The industry is a double-edged sword. It has certainly helped to lift Cambodia out of its nightmare and provided its people with jobs and greater access to the outside world, which has brought the story of the harshness of its recent history to the awareness of the millions of people worldwide. With greater exposure, there is more understanding.
But, in turn, this brings more people, more money, more crime and more corruption, resulting in tourist haunts filled with the deplorable characters and Westerners looking to exploit Cambodians. This forces the question, "Does it leave the normal Cambodian better or worse off than if tourism had never taken off in the first place?"
The majority of Cambodians I met were poor by Western economic standards. The moto drivers, outdoor restaurateurs and the handful of families I met told me that they live on only a few dollars a day, and things are not cheap. Rice costs about a dollar per kilogram, which will feed two or three people for one day. And potable water has to be purchased at the store for about the same price for a gallon.
They do not have much in material possessions, either. In Siem Reap, I visited a neighborhood erected on the banks of Siem Reap River. With no running water, erratic electricity and whole families living in homes the no bigger than a backyard shed in the Berkshires, these people live in poverty.
I remember thinking how terrible it must be to live like this, but when I met someone who spoke a little English, he did not complain. He told me this was how life was for him and his family, and they did not concern themselves with what they could not afford.
As I continued through the neighborhood I realized that, to the people living in these houses, money was not the most important part of their lives. Surviving — and seeing that others within their community survived — was entirely more important. It didn’t matter what some Western tourist thought. The most fragrant flowers bloomed pink, purple and white, children giggled as they played, women sang as they worked and men gossiped as they relaxed. They possessed something that is completely foreign to the West: content.
It’s true that their lives would be improved with essential services like clean water, health care and proper shelter, but their level of psychological satisfaction seems to surpass that of a typical person in the West. Cambodians have a tenacious spirit that has allowed them to overcome the awful tragedy of war, the stranglehold of poverty and the exploitation by Western powers through colonialization and tourist dollars.
Their strength of character, cultivated through centuries of challenges and accomplishments is greater than anything one arrogant 27-year-old Westerner could ever offer.
Chris Gauthier is a recent Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts graduate who is spending a year in China teaching English at Hebei University. He is writing regular columns for The Advocate during his stay in China. To read all of his Advocate columns, visit blogtheberkshires.com. Readers can also read more about his experiences on his own blog at chrisinchina.wordpress.com.